


So, What Now?

by crayonbreakygal



Series: So What Now? [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9389417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayonbreakygal/pseuds/crayonbreakygal
Summary: Molly sets Sherlock straight.  Takes place after The Final Problem, season four.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into this fandom. Gah! I haven't read any fic about this, yet. I'm trying to get my own take on what would happen after his revelation. Dammit, he meant it! Love, love this season so much. I'm just trying to get the feel of these two characters. And my Britspeak is rusty.

“So, What Now?”

Takes place after The Final Problem, season four.

 

“So.”

“So. How are things?”

She cringed at his question.

“Sister?”

“Yep,” he responded with the loud pop of the p at the end.

“You forgot her?”

“Obviously.”

“Childhood trauma.”

Now that definitely was not a question, just a fact.

“Unfortunately yes. Or maybe fortunate if Mycroft is to be believed.”

“You know, we could go all day with these short answers.”

“Possibly.”

“Sherlock.”

“Molly.”

Sherlock sat beside Molly on her settee.  He watched as she twisted her hands in her lap, back and forth, back and forth.  Her eyes darted everywhere but on his face.  Both sat up straight and tall, although since Molly was rather short, she was almost a head below him.  She’d worn one of her pieces of armour as he liked to call them.  Her jumper was large, encompassing her body, flowing down across her hips.  The bright, multi-colored knitted thing was garish, but pure Molly.  She crossed her legs, attempting to sit like a proper lady.  Her skirt was short, but legs covered in tights to ward off the chill of the day.  Glancing down, he noticed how shapely her calves were. Focus, dammit, he almost shouted to himself.

He’d finally found the time to see her, to explain to her what on earth had happened on that phone call.  Certainly Greg had explained it to her.  Oh, he remembered Lestrade’s name again.  Bonus points for him.  The fact that he was held hostage by his homicidal sister and had to get a response from Molly had indeed eaten away at him for days.  She expected an explanation from no one but him.  John looked at him, crossed his arms and repeatedly said no to Sherlock’s pleading that he come along.

“Why don’t we start from the beginning?”

“Beginning of what?”

“Oh bloody hell,” she murmured under her breath.  “How all this started?  Your sister?”

“Oh, that.  Well, you see, it seems I do indeed have a sister, a year younger than me.  Apparently Mycroft thought it wise to kill her off at a young age.”

“Kill her off?” she replied, distressed.

“Wait, wait. I’m not…  The words.”

“Start again.”

Molly sat ramrod straight as she attempted to listen to his explanation.  He’d always loved her settee to relax upon, but now it seemed to be a torture chamber made out of linen and suede.  Who would do that?  Make a piece of furniture with those two materials?  Focus, Holmes, he chanted in his mind.  She’d pack a mean wallop if he didn’t cooperate.

“My sister, Eurus, was, is a year younger than myself.  She, from an early age, was different.  I don’t think I need to go into specifics at this point.”

“Different as in something wrong with her or different as in what you’re like.  Or Mycroft, god forbid.”

“More than Mycroft. More than myself.  Combined.  My parents had her committed when she was very young.  I don’t remember this but she attempted to kill me, burned our house down. What I didn’t know and found out was that she killed Redbeard, I mean Victor.  She was five or six years old at the time.”

Molly gasped at the last statement.  He was shocked too, which was probably why he’d driven his memories of her very deep.

“Victor?”

“My best friend at the time.  He was Redbeard.  I was Yellow Beard.  We were pirates.”

Molly smiled just a bit at what he was saying.  She really didn’t know of his obsession with pirates.

“He just disappeared one day.  I never knew.”

“I am so sorry, Sherlock.”

“Mycroft took over her care when my uncle passed.  It seemed he thought he was doing Mummy and Dad a favor.  He faked her death.”

“He definitely likes to pull that one off, now doesn’t he?”

He knew she was referring to himself, but now was not the time. He huffed her way, knowing that he could not be interrupted if she wanted him to finish the story before dinner.

“He locked her away at a place called Sherrinford.  High security. Highest in the world.  And he will bloody well kill me if he finds out I’ve told you this.”

“Place is probably bugged.”

Sherlock held up a transmitting device, smashed to little bits.

“Maybe not,” she said, eyes wide with surprise.

“She manipulates people, makes them do what she wants.  She’s been mixing with the general population for some years now.  Small forays into society.  Then Mycroft did the unthinkable.  He let Moriarty meet her five years ago.”

“What? Is he crazy?” she said as she swiveled her head to actually look at him.

He could see her tense at the name, knew that any time he even mentioned those dark days of the fall, she would tense, eyes would darken even more.

“Sometimes I wonder.  Five minutes.  In five minutes the both of them planned this whole thing.”

“Greg says you were kidnapped, tossed into some rooms and made to complete tasks so that people didn’t die.”

“Simply put, yes. Only she didn’t keep her word.  People did die.  Too many people.”

Molly pushed up off the settee to pace, feet cushioned by a plush rug underneath. When had she gotten this?  Oh, right after he burned a hole in the last one with one of his experiments.

“So I was a task, a part of a case then?  That’s what you said, when you called.”

And there it was.  He knew she’d get around to asking, wondering what had happened on that island.

“No, you were not a task,” his voice cracked.  “She threatened to kill you if you did not respond. She also threatened to kill you if I gave you any hint of impending disaster.”

“Impending disaster?”

“Bomb, in your flat.”

Molly frantically looked around.  He had to reassure her that Eurus never planted a bomb.  His hand came out to grasp hers, to still her actions, to tell her that he was here to protect her.

“She could have killed me, just like that?”

“She was bluffing. She wanted something from me.  And she got it.”

Molly bounced back onto the settee beside him, now this time too close for his comfort. She didn’t notice how he tensed every muscle in his body.

“What did she want?” Molly asked him quietly.

“To see if I’m human? To torture me?  To pick apart every single piece of my life?  She’s not talking now, catatonic.  I can only guess.”

“How?  How did she even know me?”

“As I stated, she made many trips out of Sherrinford.  Gathered information.  Talked to people.”

“I don’t matter.”

Sherlock bowed his head, closing his eyes as he did.  There it was again, the fact that she didn’t think she mattered, to him or to anyone.  Why didn’t she see it?

“As I’ve told you before…”

“I know what you said.”

Now she was studying him, watching his every expression.  This was more than torture for him.  To have Molly thinking that she was inconsequential to this world and him? 

“She knew exactly how to hit me, destroy me.”

As he lifted his head and turned her way, he could see the tears forming in her eyes.  He hadn’t meant to hurt her in any way.  Or distress her.

“I mean, you care, about people.  Look at what you do.”

“Precision strikes.  Almost like using a bloody scalpel.”

He didn’t mean to get angry, to show her how much Eurus had hurt him.  It wasn’t like Mycroft’s biting comments or interference in his life.  In those five minutes with Jim Moriarty, she’d figured out the only way to get to him was to actually burn the heart out of him.  That lost little girl showed him how deeply he felt.

“She saw you, the real you,” Molly whispered, like it was a secret only she and he could share.

He heard in his head Molly yelling at him in that ambulance, telling him this was not the real him, that he needed to get his act together.  He heard in his head her telling him to say he was sorry, felt the slaps with such force, that they jolted him.  He heard in his head as she chastised him that Christmas, how he’d hurt her because he thought it necessary to hide his own feelings.

“Who, what is the real me?”

“Tea?”

Avoiding.  They both were skilled at it, even if it was just the two of them.

“Of course.”

Puttering around in her kitchen, Molly quickly fixed a pot.  She stood staring at the kettle, willing it boil.  Her eyes were transfixed on it as he walked up to her.

“I thought I should apologize.”

“Don’t.”

In the light of the kitchen, he could see the dark circles under her eyes, the way she slumped over just slightly, almost like she was attempting to hide in her large jumper.

“I know you didn’t mean what you said.  As you told me, it was for a case.”

“Not apologize for what I said, only for…”

“For making me say it?” she blasted him.

“To save your life. Eurus thought I’d lose, you see.  She knew you’d ask me to say it back.  And if I didn’t mean it, your life would have been forfeit.”

“But you said there wasn’t a bomb.”

Molly poured the water into the teapot, hands shaking as she did.

“She killed five people, just to make a point.”

Molly slammed the kettle back down, tea cups rattling on the counter.

“Wait, what do you mean if you didn’t mean it?  You just had to convince her, not mean it.”

“How?  I…  Did you mean what you said, Molly?”

Molly’s body shook as she grabbed the counter to stay upright.  He’d deduced a long time ago that she’d had a crush on him, had used it to get what he wanted and to actually get away with things most people would never forgive him.  She always did, forgive him, until the drugs.

“I’ve had a serious error in judgment, Molly.”

All that John had said before Sherlock came over was to not make Molly cry.  Was he doing it right at that instant?  He watched as the tear dropped onto the countertop.  Eurus was right. He was destroying Molly.

“That I didn’t tell you how I feel.”

There, he finished what he was going to say.  Now she could slap him, throw him out of her flat. He’d deal with the aftermath later.

“What? What did you just say?”

“You’re not listening.”

Her hand came up and pushed him against the other side of the kitchen counter.

“Answer my question.”

“Draw your own conclusions. Deduce me,” he spit back at her.

“You wanker.”

“Yes, your point?”

“Git.  Bastard.”

“Hardly a need to name call.”

It was almost like the slaps happened again, but she hadn’t laid a hand on him except to pin him against the counter now, just so he couldn’t escape her wrath.

“You couldn’t lie to her, could you?  She had you pegged, Sherlock.  Now tell me what I want to hear.”

Where had this Molly come from? Oh, the one in the lab, the one in the ambulance. 

“Say it.”

Her dark eyes bored into his, almost making him flinch.  He might not make it out of the flat with his manhood intact if he was not honest with her.  Gone were the tears. Gone was the feeling of being alone in the world.  This was the new Molly, the one that he had encountered the day he returned from his two years away.  That day, the day she’d help him die was the day he’d figured it out. He never wanted to admit it though, knowing he never deserved someone like her in his life.

“I love you,” he shakily whispered to her, so that only she could hear him.

“Now was that so hard,” she answered, throwing her arms around him.

“You believe me?”

“I don’t matter.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You’re an arse.”

They went on like that, nose to nose for at least ten minutes of either insulting each other or telling each other what they should or shouldn’t want.

“I want you,” he sighed, finally giving in to her body being so close.

They hadn’t even kissed, still standing toe to toe. Yanking his head down to whisper in his ear, he shivered at her hot breath.

“Fuck me now, please.”

He didn’t know whether it was her plea or the fact that she swore at him that had him moving at lightning speed.  No, the kitchen would not due for what he had planned. Grasping her thighs, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, slamming the door to keep her blasted cat out of the way.

Shedding most of his clothes, she watched the show from her bed. Climbing on slowly, he started at her ankles, circling his hand over the delicate features. His lips followed everywhere he touched.  It didn’t take long for her trousers to be thrown off the bed, her jumper out of the way.

Every time he kissed her, he told her what he felt.

“I love you, Molly,” as he kissed her shoulder.

“I love you, Molly Hooper,” he told her as he kissed her stomach.

“I love you, Dr. Hooper,” he said as he kissed the inside of her thigh.

She dug her hands into his hair, yanking him up to be parallel with her body.

“Now,” she begged him.

“Always.”

As he slid into her, her eyes darkened even further, her mouth parted in a silent scream. He wouldn’t close his eyes, wanting to see everything, to feel everything.  Holding him tightly to her with her strong legs at his back, he sped up, watching as a flush spread out across her face and neck. Her body arched into his as she found her release, the feeling of it tight, hot, sheer torture. 

His world exploded into a million pieces not long after, his mind wiped blank, his focus only on Molly.  Before he could come down, roll off of her, she hugged him tight to her, not letting go.

“I love you, Sherlock.”

“You matter.”

“I love you.”

“You are mine.”

“I love you, you git.”

“You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

“Now you’re laying it on too thick.”

“Well, it’s true.”

Molly started to giggle, which caught on with Sherlock.

“The great Sherlock Holmes, giggling like a schoolgirl.”

“I’ll have you know that I do laugh on occasion.”

“When?”

“Now. Buckingham Palace.  I had no clothes on.”

“I see a trend.”

He’d rolled off of her, but pulled her to his side so as to not lose contact.

“Mycroft’s fault.”

“You do seem to love public displays.”

“Of what?  All in a day’s work.”

“The queen almost saw your bum.”

“Mycroft ordered me to dress.”

“As well you should have.”

She pinched him on said bum, eliciting a yelp from him.

“My turn to explore.”

“You’re going to keep me here to do your bidding.”

Molly’s eyes lit up at that.

“Does that mean I need to tie you up?”

 

“So?”

“So?”

“How did it go?  If you broke her heart…”

“John, why on earth do you think I’ve hurt Molly in any way?”

John stared at him from his chair.  Sherlock kept texting, hoping that the man would just give up.

“Nothing.  Nothing,” John repeated.

“Nothing what?”

“You know you’re an utter bastard, right?”

“Sounds about right.”

Sherlock smirked a little as he looked down at his phone.  Molly had sent him a silly text, typing nonsense, but he didn’t care at that moment. 

John’s eyes narrowed on him, focusing on Sherlock’s movements. The good doctor was deducing him as he sat there. Let him, Sherlock thought.  His deductions were always far from the truth.  Taking a sip of his tea, he turned his head just slightly to watch John’s wheels spinning.

“You slept with her.”

Sherlock choked on his tea.

“You bloody well slept with her.”

“I, well, I.”

“Sputtering, face now a lovely shade of red.  Texting.  Smirking.  If I didn’t know you so well, I’d think you were so deep in love with her, it would make my teeth hurt.”

“You know me,” Sherlock answered.

“I do indeed. When’s the wedding?”

“You always miss something.”

“No, I don’t. Maybe when it comes to solving crimes, cases.  Feelings?  More my thing.”

“Shut up.”

“I can give a speech, you know.”

“Shut up.”

“I can’t play the violin, but Rosie can dance.”

“Shut up.”

“Rosie would love being the flower girl. Of course, she might attempt to eat the flowers with what’s going in her mouth lately.”

“Shut up, John.”

They went on like that for a long time, with John making suggestions, and Sherlock telling him to shut it.  Things were not back to normal, never would be with Mary gone, Eurus in his life.  But things were as they were.  Sherlock had Molly, he had John, he had his family and a few friends.

“Oh, Sherlock’s in love,” he heard Mary say in his head.  “Finally.”

 


End file.
